


baby, you were my picket fence

by extremegraphicviolins



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, I made myself sad while writing it, Implied Sexual Content, Keith and Lance are married, M/M, Zombies, fair warning this doesn't have a happy ending, klance, klangst, not a whole lot but i wanna tag it just to be safe, so if you were looking for a fluffy feel-good fic this isn't it, there is some gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 14:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11830632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremegraphicviolins/pseuds/extremegraphicviolins
Summary: It's the zombie apocalypse.Through it all, Lance doesn't leave Keith's side.





	baby, you were my picket fence

**Author's Note:**

> HEY YALL
> 
> so this whole thing happened because i listened to "Miss Missing You" by Fall Out Boy and got weirdly emotional about zombie apocalypse klance. i know it says so in the tags, but i just wanna reiterate that this is the angstiest thing i've ever written, and it doesn't really have a happy ending. like, at all. 
> 
> with that out of the way, hope you enjoy!

When Lance wakes up, it's still dark.

 

* * *

 

_He meets Keith in the autumn. They are both barely twenty._

_Bright indigo eyes, looking at him in the lecture hall. The crunch of leaves underfoot. Warm fingers tangling with his own when the weather gets cold._

 

* * *

 

There are no blankets on him. Just pants and a jacket and mud-caked boots.  

 

* * *

 

_They move in together two years later, the summer after graduation._

_It starts off as a blank, plain apartment. But together, they fill it up. They put pictures on the walls and music in the air. There are houseplants that Keith always forgets to water._

_It’s small, and it’s not perfect, but for them, it’s home._

 

* * *

 

He lies there, shivering, frozen into place and very much alone. Takes in the cold metal room. It doesn't feel real. Nothing does, this late at night.

 

* * *

 

_Minutes after Keith proposes, it starts to rain. But they just stand there together on the hill, getting steadily more soaked by the warm late-June shower. Neither one can stop smiling; Lance is beaming so hard his face hurts, and there’s no place he’d rather be._

_The rain lets up after a few minutes. Both of them are sopping wet. Lance’s white button-down is clinging to his body, and Keith’s bangs are plastered over his eyes._

_Lance is the one that points it out. High in the sky, above the line that the city forms on the horizon, is a perfect double rainbow, stretching far and wide, as bright and beautiful as the smiles on their faces._

_They stay there on the hill until the rainbow fades._

 

* * *

 

Lance must have cried out, because he hears footsteps. Moments later, Hunk is in the room, gun in hand, prepared for the worst.

 

* * *

 

_Lance stands next to his brother and the minister. Just behind them is an arch, woven with flowers and ribbons and vines, with sunlight dappling through the latticework and landing on the shoulders of Lance’s suit. He rocks back and forth on his heels, unable to keep the pure, nervous joy off his face._

_All the breath rushes out of him when he sees Keith walk down the aisle._

_It's like the world disappears — for the entire ceremony, Keith is all he sees. There's something so tender in Keith's eyes, something wonderstruck and open about his face._

_Something golden on his finger._

_“You may kiss.”_

_Lance winds his hand into Keith's hair, feels Keith's arms wrap around his waist, and kisses him._

_It tastes like forever._

 

* * *

 

Hunk relaxes for a brief second when he sees that Lance is alone. Then his brow creases with fresh worry. He sets the gun down by the door.

When Lance latches onto him, Hunk holds him, feeling the warm tears seep into his shirt.

 

* * *

 

_Six years later, in the dry heat of August, things change._

_It’s quite possibly the hottest summer of Lance’s life, and for the first part of it, he spends his days at work, in a sweltering office that has a pitiful excuse for air conditioning. When he gets home, he and Keith hunker down in the basement._

_Watching the news is unsettling, to say the least — weather warnings abound, coupled with medical miracles that only increase in frequency. A woman whose heart stopped, then restarted minutes later. A child waking up from death to see their parents caught in the first stages of not-fully-formed grief._

_It cools down some in the evenings, and they go for walks. Lance ambles through suburbia, one hand entwined with Keith’s, the other holding their dog’s leash._

_One night, Keith swears up and down that he saw something staggering through the alley that runs behind rows upon rows of neatly manicured backyards._

_The next night, in the dying heat, Lance sees it too._

_They leave the next day, loading precious things into their RV: wedding photos; non-perishable food; gallons and gallons of water, as much as they can get. Lance’s rifle, only ever used at a target range, goes under the seat, along with a couple boxes of ammunition. They don’t talk about what might happen that would necessitate its use._

_Lance and Keith bring their dog, too, but one night, two weeks into running from this murky, menacing threat, Rusty strays too far from the camper._

_The next morning, they find Rusty’s collar, along with the pungent smell of decay, but not much else._

 

* * *

 

Lance shudders, still wrapped in Hunk’s arms, sobs wracking his body. The dream begins to solidify at the edges of his mind.

 

* * *

 

_They meet Hunk at the fray of a city that’s crawling with the rotting shells of human beings, numb to sensation and hungry for flesh._

_They're rumbling down the deserted highway in their motorhome when Keith spots something. It's a man, elbow-deep in the hood of his SUV. Smoke is pouring from the hood of the vehicle._

_“I’m gonna pull over,” Lance says._

_Keith looks from the man to Lance. “Okay. But if he’s dangerous, we’re leaving.”_

_“Well, yeah.” Lance steers the RV over to the side of the road, near the man and his broken-down car. “He doesn’t look sketchy, though. Just like a regular guy.”_

_Hunk, it turns out, is not a threat. He was an engineer, he tells Lance and Keith, in the old world. (It’s only been a few months; maybe two? Lance can’t believe that people are already calling it ‘the old world’.)_

_“Where are you headed?” Keith asks._

_“Wherever’s safe,” Hunk says. “I’m not picky.”_

_Hunk joins them in the RV, skirting around fallen metropolises and finding refuge in fields._

_And somewhere along the line, he goes from being the man by the side of the road to being their friend._

 

* * *

 

In Lance’s dream, there was a field with tall, dry grass that flattened under his feet. He remembers a gathering of people, tiny like ants under the vast, desolate sky.

Here and now, in his barren room of fortified steel, the room that he doesn’t feel safe in anymore, Lance swears he can smell it: decomposition and gunpowder and smoke.

His shoulders shake again, violently, and it almost feels like recoil; like the kickback of a phantom rifle against his shoulder.

Lance hasn’t shot a gun in a long, long time, but his body remembers the feel of it. He will never not know how it feels.

 

* * *

 

_It’s a few months later that the three of them meet Shiro and the Holts, and this time, they’re the ones who are in trouble. They’re running out of resources, of fuel, of food. So when Lance sees the compound, surrounded by high chain-link fences, with a simple but well-kept garden in the courtyard, he feels optimistic. Cautiously optimistic, but hopeful nonetheless._

_Lance, Keith, and Hunk open the gate, careful to close it again, and walk inside the compound. It’s a squat, sprawling building; a single storey of concrete and steel and the occasional pane of reinforced glass. Maybe it was a prison, in the old world._

_Their footsteps echo through the halls. It’s empty and quiet and poorly lit — electricity is a thing of the past, and there aren’t many windows to let in the sunlight._

_They call out as they walk, to alert anyone who lives here of their presence._

_“Hello? Anybody here—”_

_“Who are you.” It isn’t a question. It’s a demand._

_Lance turns around and sees a short, ginger-haired woman standing in the hallway behind him, with both hands wrapped around a pistol._

_She speaks again. “Why are you here.”_

_“I promise we’re not bandits or murderers or anything,” Lance blurts. He holds out his palms, showing that they’re empty of weapons._

_The woman raises an eyebrow._

_“Uh.” Lance looks at Keith and Hunk, wide-eyed._

_“That’s Lance,” Keith rescues him. “And that’s Hunk, and I’m Keith.”_

_A man walks out of one of the doors in the hall. “Katie? What’s going on?” He looks remarkably similar to the woman — Katie — with copper hair and pale skin. “Who’s this?”_

_“Lance and Hunk and Keith, apparently.”_

_The man looks at the three of them, then back at Katie. “What’s with the gun? They don’t look hostile.”_

_“Neither did Zack, when we met him. And look what became of that.”_

_Something grim flickers across the man’s face, but then he turns back toward Lance, who has stepped closer to Keith._

_Then, he smiles. Extends his hand. “I’m Matt,” he says. “What are you doing here?”_

_“We’ve been living in our motorhome,” Keith explains as he shakes Matt’s hand, “but we’re running out of gas and other stuff.”_

_“And we saw this place,” Hunk cuts in. “We hoped there might be people.”_

_Lance finds his voice. “Honestly, we’re just looking for someplace that’s safe. We’ve… we’ve had a couple close calls.” He interlaces his fingers with Keith’s, grounding himself._

_Matt and Katie exchange a look._

_“I’ll get Shiro,” Katie says._

_She returns, minutes later, with a tall, muscular man following behind her. A broad slash runs across the bridge of his nose. It looks fairly recent — still red and scabbed over._

_The right sleeve of his jacket ends at the same place his arm does, just above where his elbow should have been. Lance stares, but no one mentions it._

_The man tells them that his name is Shiro, and that he, Katie, and Matt are the only people living in the compound._

_“There used to be more of us,” he says, “but we trusted the wrong person.”_

_Shiro is wary and serious, but he is not unkind._

_He and Katie and Matt talk in hushed tones for what feels like hours. Lance watches and strains to listen, holding Keith’s hand with an iron grip, until Katie comes back with a verdict._

_“You can stay.”_

 

* * *

 

It takes a few minutes for Lance to remember where he is and where he isn’t.

Hunk rubs circles into his back. “Breathe.”

He breathes _—_

_—_ and chokes, the tears caught halfway down his throat.

 

* * *

 

_Lance gets used to life at the compound. It’s safe — safer than he’s been since this whole mess began._

_They’ve been there for a few months, give or take. Calendar time has become a matter of guesswork. Every day that passes, Katie makes a tally mark in her notebook and writes down the date. She thinks it’s early March right now._

_Shiro and the Holts are beginning to trust the three of them, but they’re still guarded. It stings a little, but Lance understands. The past hangs heavy in the emptiness of the building, the building that should have more people living in it. Shiro’s arm, too, is a constant reminder of what has been lost._

_Lance spends his days mostly in the watchtower, shooting the walkers that get too close to the chain link fence. He worries about the consequences — will they run out of ammunition? Will the sound of gunfire draw more walkers to them? — but Katie tells him to just shoot the damn things._

_When Lance heads inside for the night, Katie takes over the watchtower. Lance still hasn’t seen her sleep for more than three or four hours at a time, but somehow she’s sharp and collected. There’s no hiding the weariness in her eyes, though. It's a deep-seated exhaustion that would take months to reverse._

_Lance sleeps in a small room that has metal walls, tangled up with Keith, a blanket from their RV pulled close to their bodies._

_Nights are quiet and strange. They hold each other. Sometimes they sleep. Sometimes they cry. Lance weeps for his old life; for his parents and brothers and sisters. He doesn’t know where they are;_ if _they are. Times like this, Keith pulls him in close to his chest, holds him against the tremors that riddle his body. Sometimes, Keith says, “We will find them.” Other times, there aren’t words, just chapped lips pressed to Lance’s forehead and strong arms wrapped around his back._

_Some nights, they kiss, and the kisses turn desperate, open-mouthed and sloppy. Hands roam, searching for a reminder that they’re still human. Clothes come off. Hips roll on hips. Tiny purple bruises bloom like lilacs, and Keith’s soft gasps echo through the cell block-turned-home. Lance worships him with his hands, his lips, his teeth and tongue. Every touch, every kiss, every soft, laboured breath is a reassurance:_ I’m here, you’re here, and we’re alive alive alive.

_It’s enough._

 

* * *

 

At some point, Katie comes into the room. She’s taken to walking the halls at night, chasing walkers instead of chasing sleep.

Now, she places a hand on Lance’s shoulder.

He looks up at her.

“Do you know what day it is?”

 

* * *

 

_Lance and Keith and Matt are standing outside the truck. The box is full of what supplies they could glean._

_The gas tank, though, is empty. The fuel didn’t stretch as far as they thought it would, and they are still far from the compound._

_Matt knows where they are, knows the way home. But the sun is setting._

_“I guess we’re walking,” Matt says. “Carry what supplies we can, and come back for the truck tomorrow.”_

_So they do, stuffing batteries and cans of food and tools into their packs, following Matt through the field of tall, dry grass._

_Lance is on edge. Traveling at night, on foot, is never the first choice, but it’s a better option than staying put and hoping they’re still alive come morning. So he walks beside Keith, and keeps marching on, because the only way out is through._

_They don’t talk. They take care, instead, to tread as lightly as possible. Noise would be a target on their backs._

_The compound is in sight. They’re almost there._

_But they are not the only ones who can be quiet._

_Lance doesn’t even notice the walker until it’s right in front of his face._

 

* * *

 

Katie nods. She removes her hand from Lance’s shoulder, reaches into her jacket, pulls out a small black notebook.

Her voice is soft. “July nineteenth.”

Lance nods. Swallows. He expected as much.

“Why…” Katie begins. Hunk shoots her a look, but she continues. “Why did you want to know?”

 

* * *

 

_He screams._

_But then Keith is there, appearing in front of him just as fast as the walker did._

_It’s only a matter of seconds, but Lance sees it all in slow motion._

_Keith jumps between him and the walker, pushing it out of the way. It grabs at Keith; at his limbs, his clothes, his hair._

_It pulls Keith to the ground, its jaw working up and down, trying to bite, tear, devour._

_Keith kicks and fights, crying out, pushing it, trying to get back up to his feet and get away._

_Matt cocks his rifle and raises it to his shoulder in one fluid motion. He aims, closing his left eye, lining up the sights, and squeezes the trigger._

_There’s a bang._

_The walker goes limp._

_Keith doesn’t get up._

_Lance is at his side, kneeling on the ground, fearing the worst._

_But then Keith’s eyes open. They’re shiny. Wet. He sucks in a sharp, hissing breath. His hand goes to his side, right over his ribs._

_Lance peels back Keith’s shirt._

_He stares._

_Teeth marks stare back at him, angry and red, curtains around an absence of flesh._

_Lance looks away. Has to._

_Keith is grimacing, and his eyes are squeezed shut. He’s on the verge of hyperventilating, hiccups intermingling with tears._

_“You’re gonna be okay; we’re gonna get back to the others; you’re gonna be okay, I promise.” Lance is babbling as he scoops Keith up into his arms._

_Matt looks around for more walkers, gun still at the ready, but no more come._

_“We have to move,” Lance urges._

_“Okay.” Matt keeps holding the gun, and begins forging ahead, trying to stay calm. “Okay.”_

_They get back to the compound. Matt opens the doors, closes them, dumps his backpack and rifle on the floor._

_“I’m gonna get the others,” he calls as he dashes away. “You get him to the infirmary!”_

_Lance’s muscles burn as he carries Keith to the room where they found a small stash of medical supplies and an infirmary bed._

_“Hold on, Keith. You’re gonna be okay.”_

_Lance doesn’t know if he’s reassuring Keith or himself._

_When they get to the infirmary, the others are waiting. Lance lays Keith down on the bed, helps him take off his jacket and shirt so that Katie can look at the wound._

_Keith squeezes Lance’s hand with the strength of a vise while Katie pours disinfectant on the bloody mess that is his side. Whimpers and sharply drawn breaths escape from between Keith’s gritted teeth. His eyes are clenched shut against the pain. When Katie’s done, she puts a cotton pad over the exposed flesh and secures it with medical tape and gauze._

_When the others leave, one by one, Lance stays. He doesn't let go of Keith’s hand._

_After a while, Keith breaks the silence. “Lance.” He inhales, slow and shaky. “What if I’m infected?”_

_“No.” Lance shakes his head. “Don’t say that.”_

_“It’s a possibility. We have to consider it.”_

_“No. You’re still you. You’re not gonna turn. You—”_

_“That thing_ bit _me, Lance.” Keith’s voice is soft. “It could happen. And if it does — no, let me finish — you can’t let me become one of them.”_

_“Keith—”_

_“I don’t want to just… slowly rot into a brainless host for a virus. That isn’t how I want to die.”_

_“You’re not gonna die.” Lance’s throat constricts, painfully, and his voice comes out wobbly. “You’re gonna get better and stay right here, on this side of the soil.”_

_“I really fucking hope you’re right. But if something happens, and I start to…” Keith clears his throat. “You have to promise that you’ll take me out before I lose myself.”_

_Lance is quiet._

_“Promise me, Lance.”_

_“...Okay.”_

 

* * *

 

Lance doesn’t find his voice for several long seconds. When he speaks, he is quiet and hoarse.

“Our anniversary.”

“Oh.”

 

* * *

 

_Three days later, the flesh around where Keith got bitten has turned grey. When Katie changes his bandages, she flinches at the sight of it, black and greenish with infection._

_She doesn’t tell Lance, because she doesn’t need to._

_It’s one of the things he wishes he didn’t know._

 

* * *

 

Instinctively, Lance reaches for the cord around his neck, pulling it out from under his shirt.

A golden ring hangs heavy from it. It’s warm from being pressed against Lance’s chest. He fidgets with it, slipping it onto each of his fingers, one at a time.

But it's too big for Lance’s narrow fingers, and falls off each one.

 

* * *

 

_Keith starts forgetting little things, like certain words, or where he left his knife._

_He knows what’s happening. They all do. Everyone is loath to talk about it, though._

_The greyish tinge on Keith’s skin has spread, covering most of his stomach, creeping onto his chest. He leaves the bed less and less._

_He’s sick, sick with a mixed cocktail of the flu, rabies, and death._

_Lance moves into the infirmary. He doesn’t leave Keith’s side._

 

* * *

 

The ring that hangs on the cord around Lance’s neck matches the one he wears on his fourth finger.

 

* * *

 

_When Keith talks to Lance five days later, Lance knows what’s coming._

_“Please.”_

_The colour is long gone from Keith’s cheeks. His face is hollow, his body frail from being unable to keep any food down. When he leans into Lance, his ribs are scarily prominent. His hipbones are like knives._

_They stay like that for hours, curled up together on Keith’s bed. Lance strokes Keith’s hair, brushes his lips against his forehead._

_They kiss, long and deep, breathing each other in. When the tears start to roll down Lance’s cheeks, he lets them fall, kissing Keith harder instead of wiping them away._

_“I’m scared,” Keith whispers when they break apart. “I’m so fucking scared, Lance.”_

_“Me too.”_

_“Is it gonna hurt?”_

_“Only for a second.” The words take enormous effort._

_Lance holds Keith close to him. Keith’s body feels a few degrees colder than it should._

_“Do you remember our first date?” Keith asks a few moments later._

_Lance laughs softly. “You laughed so hard you sprayed iced tea out of your nose. How could I forget?”_

_“I knew it was too much to hope that you'd forget about that.” Keith nuzzles into Lance’s chest. He can hear the smile in Keith's voice._

_“Damn right it was too much to hope for. Embarrassing Keith stories are locked into my long-term memory.” A smile flits across Lance's face. “Besides, I still married you.”_

_“After the iced tea thing, I didn't even think you'd want to go on a second date.”_

_“I'm glad I did.”_

_“Yeah,” Keith says. “Me too.”_

_Lance hugs Keith closer, burying his face in Keith's shoulder, and breathes. He smells grungy — but so does Lance, so does everyone else who's alive right now — but more than that, he smells like Keith; like that unnamable, familiar scent that Lance can only describe as ‘home’._

_“I love you,” he murmurs into Keith’s hair. “I will always love you.”_

_Keith coughs, a horrible, hacking sound that shakes his entire body and leaves his voice hoarse. “I love you too, Lance,” he whispers. “So, so much.” He falls asleep, with Lance’s arms wrapped around him and his head on Lance’s chest._

_Lance stays awake for a long time, listening to Keith’s ragged breathing. It sounds like there’s a rattle in his lungs, his breaths coming weak and shallow._

_Eventually, Lance falls asleep, too._

_He dreads the coming of the morning._

 

* * *

 

Lance gets to his feet, walks the few steps to the opposite wall, and slumps down against it. He makes himself small, folding in on himself, hugging his long legs close to his body.

 

* * *

 

_The next morning, Keith doesn’t wake up._

 

* * *

 

Lance draws in a breath.

“It’s our goddamn anniversary and he isn’t here to see it.”

 

* * *

 

_The virus made quick work of Keith, shutting down his body in a week and a half._

_Hunk and Shiro make sure that he won’t come back as a walker. His long dark hair hides the bullet hole._

_They bury him in the grassy area outside the compound, across from the garden, wrapped in a blanket as a makeshift funeral shroud._

_Lance is numb as his husband is lowered into the ground. All he can do, for now, is watch._

_The emotions slam into him later, like a tidal wave, threatening to tear him apart. But at the same time, nothing feels real. He is untethered, shuffling around listlessly to wherever his feet take him._

_Just like a walker._

_The irony is not lost on Lance._

 

* * *

 

In the dream, Keith stood across from Lance and Hunk and Shiro and the Holts, already visibly half-walker.

In the dream, Lance had a rifle, cocked and loaded.

In the dream, Keith said, “I’m ready.” In the dream, Keith said, “I love you.”

In the dream, Keith closed his eyes, raised his pallid face to the sun.

In the dream, Lance pulled the trigger.

In real life, he didn’t have to. Keith drew his last breath before it came to that, before Lance was forced to honour the promise he made.

In real life, Lance didn’t pull the trigger.

_But,_ he thinks, as he sits in the room that now belongs to just him, _I might as well have._

 

* * *

 

He stays awake until it’s light outside, picks a bundle of flowers, sets them in front of the stake that marks Keith’s grave.

He doesn’t leave Keith’s side.

 

* * *

 

Matt finds him later, when the afternoon sun is making its descent across the sky.

Matt stands, Lance sits in the grass, both of them basking in the sunlight and the silence.

“It’s not your fault,” Matt finally says.

Lance doesn’t know what to say to that.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~i am very, very sorry.~~
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> thank you for reading! i live for comments and feedback, so i'd love to hear what you thought of this story!
> 
> also, hella thanks to my friend TotallynotFanfics for beta'ing. you rock!!!!!!
> 
> well, that's all for now! byeeeee


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